The last thing Elara remembered was the smell of ozone and rust, the screech of tearing metal, and the desperate, futile grab for a handhold that wasn't there. She'd been a maintenance chief on the orbital freighter *Star-Crawler*, patching a hull breach during a ion-storm. A safety line had snapped. There was the cold kiss of vacuum, the terrifying silence, and then… nothing.
This was not nothing.
Consciousness returned not as a gentle dawn, but as a violent slap. Harsh, golden light seared her eyelids. A dry, scorching wind, carrying the scent of dust and something coppery, filled her lungs. The ground beneath her was hard, unyielding stone, baking under a relentless sun.
Groaning, Elara pushed herself up, her hands scraping on rough, sandy granite. She was on her knees in a vast, circular plaza. Around her, others were doing the same—stirring, waking, confusion and dawning horror on a hundred different faces. Humans, mostly, but not all. There were figures with iridescent skin, others with faintly glowing markings, some with features so alien they made her head swim. A cacophony of panicked questions rose in a dozen languages, yet she understood them all, as if the meaning were being injected directly into her mind.
*Where are we?*
*What is this place?*
*How did I get here?*
The questions died in their throats as the sky changed.
The sun, a sickly yellow orb, was blotted out. Not by clouds, but by a face. A face so vast it encompassed the entire dome of the heavens. Features of impossible beauty and cruelty were etched into the firmament—high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and eyes that burned with a cold, amethyst light. They held no warmth, no life, only a bottomless, amused malice. A smile stretched across the sky, a crescent of terrifying perfection.
**"Welcome, my lovely little toys! Welcome to my grand theater! Welcome to the Spire of Eternity!"**
The voice was not sound. It was a vibration that shook the very marrow of their bones, a psychic tsunami that crashed into every mind simultaneously. Elara clutched her head, a whimper escaping her lips. The voice was everywhere, inside and out, inescapable.
**"I am your Curator, your Architect, your God for however long you manage to not be exquisitely boring. And you… you are the newest contestants in my favorite game!"**
The giant face leaned closer, its breath a hot, sulfurous wind that whipped across the plaza.
**"One hundred and thirty-seven of you. A delightful number. Plucked from your mundane little lives at the very moment of your demise. A second chance! Isn't that generous? A chance to climb my Spire. A chance to fight, to struggle, to bleed and scream and die for the most magnificent prize I can offer: a single wish. Anything your heart desires. Immortality. Unlimited power. The resurrection of a loved one. The salvation of your world. It matters not to me. It will be granted."**
A wish. The word hung in the air, a poisonous诱惑. Elara's heart, which had been hammering with fear, gave a treacherous, hopeful lurch. A wish could put her back on the *Star-Crawler*, could undo the snapped cable, could give her a life back.
**"But of course,"** the God's voice dripped with mock sympathy, **"such a prize cannot be claimed without cost. The Spire is filled with challenges of my own design. Puzzles, traps, and creatures born from my most delightful nightmares. And, most importantly, each other."**
The amethyst eyes scanned the crowd, and Elara felt a gaze like physical ice slide over her.
**"Cooperation is permitted. Betrayal is encouraged. Murder is inevitable. And it is all being broadcast across the multiverse to the most esteemed beings in existence! They are watching. They are betting. Your pain is their entertainment. Your deaths are their currency. Try to be entertaining, won't you? It would be a shame to be canceled mid-season."**
The sky-face began to recede, its manic grin the last thing to fade.
**"One final gift, to make things interesting. Powers. A random assortment of abilities to make your struggles more… cinematic. Receive them. Understand them. And then… begin. The gate to the First Floor opens in one hour. I do so hope you make it memorable."**
The face vanished. The sun returned, somehow harsher than before. For a moment, there was dead silence. Then, chaos.
A man next to Elara screamed. She turned to see vines erupting from his skin, thick and thorny, weaving around his limbs before receding. A woman a few feet away vanished into a shimmer of light and reappeared instantly a meter to the left, stumbling in confusion. A hulking brute of a man roared as his muscles swelled, tearing his shirt, his skin taking on a grey, rocky texture.
Elara felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach. What would she get? What cruel, random tool would this sadistic god bestow upon her?
It started as a itch in her fingertips, a strange, pulling sensation. She looked down at her hands. The small scrapes from the stone floor were glowing with a soft, silver light. The skin knitted itself together before her eyes, leaving no trace of the injury. The sensation traveled up her arms, a wave of soothing cold, settling deep within her core. Knowledge, instinctual and immediate, flooded her mind.
*Mending Touch.* She could accelerate the natural healing process in living things. She could stitch flesh, knit bone, purge poison. The power felt… warm. Good. It was a relief, a tiny spark of hope in this nightmare. She wasn't a weapon. She was a medic. A healer. Maybe she could find others, form a group. They could survive together.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a bestial shriek. The man with the rocky skin had fully transformed into a monstrous golem. With another roar, he backhanded a slender, fox-like alien who had been staring at its own hands, from which small sparks were flying. The blow connected with a sickening crunch, sending the creature flying across the plaza to land in a broken, twitching heap.
"Anybody gets near me, you get the same!" the rock-man bellowed, his voice a grating rumble.
The fragile truce of confusion shattered completely. Panic became pandemonium. People scrambled away from him, from each other. A blast of fire singed the air. Shards of ice shot from another contestant's hands, embedding themselves in the ground. This was the God's true first test: a battle royale before they even entered his tower, a way to thin the herd and provide a bloody opening act for his audience.
Elara dropped low, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. This was insane. She wasn't a fighter. She fixed things. She saved lives, she didn't end them.
"Over here! Quickly!" a voice hissed from behind a large, crumbling statue at the edge of the plaza.
Elara turned to see a young man with frantic eyes beckoning to her. He looked human, pale and thin, clutching his arm which was bleeding from a deep gash. Behind him, two others were huddled—a woman with eyes that swirled like molten gold and a large, terrified-looking man who seemed to have no visible power.
Instinct warred with caution. The healer in her won. She scurried over, ducking behind the stone plinth as a jet of acid splattered where she had just been kneeling.
"Thank you," the pale man gasped. "He just… he just lashed out. I don't even know what my power is!"
"Let me see," Elara said, her voice steadier than she felt. She placed her hands on his wound. The silver light glowed from her palms, and the bleeding stopped, the flesh weaving itself together. The man stared, open-mouthed.
"A healer," the golden-eyed woman murmured, a calculating look in her gaze. "Invaluable. I am Kaelen. This is Bren." She gestured to the large man, who just nodded nervously. "The coward here is Lyra."
"I'm not a coward! I'm pragmatic!" the now-healed man snapped.
"We need to stick together," Elara said, ignoring them. "My name is Elara. We can protect each other."
"Protection is what we need right now," Bren said, his voice a low rumble. He pointed.
The rock-man was stomping through the plaza, targeting anyone who looked weak or isolated. His path was bringing him toward their hiding spot.
"We can't fight that," Lyra whined.
"We don't have to," Kaelen said, her voice cool. "We just have to be more trouble than we're worth. Elara, can you heal at a distance?"
"I… I don't know. I haven't tried."
"Now would be an excellent time to learn. Bren, you look strong. Can you draw his attention? Lyra, do *something* useful."
Lyra clenched his fists, a look of intense concentration on his face. Nothing happened. "I think my power is… being exceptionally average?" he said, despairing.
The rock-man was twenty meters away. He kicked a contestant who was trying to form a shield of light, sending them sprawling.
"Plan B," Kaelen said. "We run. On my mark. To that archway on the far side. It might be the entrance."
Elara's mind raced. This was survival. This was the game. Her first instinct had been to heal, to group up. But this group was already fracturing. Kaelen was coldly pragmatic, Bren was scared, and Lyra was useless. They weren't a team; they were hostages to fortune.
The rock-man was ten meters away. He saw them.
"Little rats hiding!" he boomed, raising a fist the size of a boulder.
"Now!" Kaelen yelled.
They broke from cover, sprinting across the chaotic plaza. Elara's lungs burned in the hot, thin air. She heard the thunderous footsteps behind her, gaining.
Bren, in his panic, tripped over a body and went down with a cry. The rock-man loomed over him, fist raised for a killing blow.
"Leave him!" Kaelen shouted, not breaking stride.
Elara skidded to a halt. She couldn't. She just couldn't. She turned, raising her hands, pouring every ounce of her will, her fear, her desperation into her power. A beam of pure, silver light lanced from her palms and struck Bren's body just as the stone fist descended.
**CRACK.**
The sound was horrific. But it wasn't the sound of Bren's bones breaking. It was the sound of stone shattering.
The rock-man howled, clutching his fist. Cracks had spiderwebbed across it, and a large chunk had broken away, revealing raw, bloody flesh beneath. Bren, surrounded by the silver glow, was unharmed. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with shock and gratitude.
Elara stared. Her power hadn't just healed. It had… reinforced. It had made Bren's body momentarily durable enough to break the attacker's weapon.
The rock-man's eyes, tiny and furious in his stone face, locked onto her. "You!" he roared, his voice cracking with pain and rage. He abandoned Bren and charged straight at her.
Elara turned and ran, pure adrenaline fueling her. She saw Kaelen and Lyra disappear through the dark stone archway. The entrance to the First Floor. Salvation was just meters away.
She could hear the thunderous footsteps right behind her. She could feel the heat of his breath. She dove forward, through the archway, into the welcoming darkness.
She landed hard on cool, damp stone, rolling several times before coming to a stop. Gasping, she looked back. The rock-man had stopped at the threshold, pounding on an invisible barrier that shimmered with each impact. He was locked out. The hour was up.
Elara lay there, trembling, her body aching, her mind reeling. She had survived the first cut. She had used her power not just to heal, but to fight. The realization was as terrifying as it was empowering.
She pushed herself up, looking around. She was in a cavernous, torch-lit stone hallway. The air was cool and smelled of damp moss and old earth. Kaelen and Lyra were there, leaning against a wall, catching their breath. Bren stumbled through the archway a moment later, the barrier sealing shut behind him with a final, soft chime.
He walked over to Elara and offered a hand, pulling her to her feet. "You saved my life," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."
Kaelen pushed off the wall, her golden eyes appraising Elara with new interest. "A defensive application of healing. Fascinating. And far more useful than I initially presumed." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "It seems our little group has its tank and its healer. Now we just need to find a damage dealer."
Elara looked at the three of them—the cold strategist, the terrified coward, the grateful brute. This was her team. Her best chance for survival in this hellish tower.
She nodded, pushing down her fear. "Then let's find one."
She didn't know it yet, but high above, in a viewing chamber of impossible dimensions, the God smiled as he watched her feed. He took a sip of ambrosia and turned to a fellow entity made of shifting shadows.
**"See that one? The mender? She has a spark of resilience. I give her… oh, until the end of the next floor. The bets are already pouring in. It's so much more fun when they have a little hope to crush."**
He laughed, a sound that echoed through the cosmos, a promise of pain yet to come. The game had only just begun.